


It's only wrong if it happens for real

by Sin_with_a_Grin



Series: Fluff, Feels and Fantasies [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Stancest - Freeform, Stancest Week 2017, highschool, minor body hatred, minor self loathing, nerds, sportball
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9357098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sin_with_a_Grin/pseuds/Sin_with_a_Grin
Summary: Stan is a popular kid at school, on the football team, this year's star forward! Ford is a nerd, a freak, and apparently holding his brother back. Somehow these taunts only fuel his sinful inner salaciousness...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stanfordsixerpines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stanfordsixerpines/gifts).



> Sin's note: Haven't written Stancest for AO3 before, but I'm a big fan! Have a wet dream ♥

It wasn’t working. Usually, the dedication of his mind towards his favorite past time, studying, was enough to erase the discomfort of the flesh, but not today. Today everything hurt. 

The new crowd that Lee was hanging out with was probably good for him. They were popular, entertaining, lively, gregarious, tightknit, and painfully heterosexual. Their constant ribbing and homophobia was appalling but it was good for a brawler like his twin to be involved with such types; it was unwise to be involved with freaks like  _ him.  _ At least, that’s what the rest of the team had said when they beat the ever-living-crap out of him earlier that day, rubbing his face in the dirt with their shoes, kicking while he was down. He was a freak. A freak.  _ A freak. _ And cool kids like Stan shouldn’t have  _ freaks _ dragging at their shirt tails forever. 

Ford loved his brother. Far more, he was fairly sure, than was socially acceptable. It didn’t matter to him, but Stanley…. 

He’d hidden it well, he thought. Sure he clammed up a little, withdrew into himself sometimes when he had an obtrusively sexual thought about his twin. Usually it was when their record player was on, Stan’s hips and limbs flying along with the music, criminally masculine and provocative. If there were such a thing as sorcery, Lee would surely be enchanter, or some sort of sex-drive sorcerer. He was smitten with his brother entirely, and it was all Stanley’s fault!   
  
So when he lay there, alone, struggling to breath from bruises to his ribs and a sore belly, unable to focus on his books because  _ Stanley’s  _ friends had beat him up today, and even with all his damned injuries (thankfully they’d spared not only most of his face but his glasses as well) he was  _ still _ having trouble focusing on his collegiate level Intro to Chemistry class reading. Most of this stuff he’d actually learned on his own already anyways.

With a sigh, the book dropped to his stomach and he stared down at the offending body part that was -truly- causing the distraction. “Really? Still?” When there was no decrease of the distraction, Ford let loose a noise of exasperation and dropped the book to the floor without bothering to mark the page. He flicked a glance at the door, padded over to lock it, then after a moment, flicked the lights off as well. Better to maintain the illusion. 

He squirmed back into comfort on his bed, shame saturating him as his hand slipped down the soft pajama pants and into his plain cotton undies. Stan had started wearing loose boxers lately. Originally it had dismayed him as he couldn’t  _ see _ anything anymore, but it allowed for so much more… movement… the trade off was worth it to the observer. A definite perk for someone on the lower bunk when your brother reaches for something just by your head… 

Ford’s eyes flicked closed at the picture, imagining the tiniest hint of belly his brother had, bared as Stan stretched to reach something above his head, everything clearly outlined; but when he licked his lip at the picture he winced, gasping at the little shock of pain.  _ Had _ they gotten his face? “Ugh! Stupid … football team…”    
  
Let it never be said that Stanford Pines lacked imagination. 

Within minutes, the fantasy had unfurled. Stan was the star … runner-thing… at a  _ rival _ school, not his brother. Gone was the shame and the self hatred for his unnatural crush; there were plenty of scientists who were homosexually inclined. One of the greatest mathematical minds of this century, Alan Turing, was as well…  perhaps not the greatest example. Still…

As president of the National Honors Society chapter, supporting his friend in the marching band would be an appropriate use of his time. Leaving the game in an oversized jersey might be dangerous when the MVP and his buddies blaze out of the stadium though, spotting a nerd like him.  _ Party whipping boy _ , they’d chant while surrounding him, Lee pulling his belt off and holding it out.    
  
_ You can either come quiet, or I can knock you silly, Poindexter. Which’s it gonna be? _ Teeth chattering in fear and a healthy dollop of adrenaline, he’d offer his wrists to the leader, big brown eyes begging to be gentle. Lee would take that look to heart, he thought. Yes, underneath the bravado and the brass and the sex, Lee was a gentleman. He would have a hard time with this; he was only doing it because his friends were pressuring him. 

Dragged by the too tight belt around his wrists, smushed between Stan and some other meat head in the front seat, all the other guys good naturedly teasing Stan about how he might as well f-fuck the nerd since he turned down all the cheerleaders… and Stan just laughing it off, a possessive hand on the back of Ford’s neck, his tightening fingers telling far more than his non-committal objections. 

The party would, of course, be horrible. The ‘ribbing’ would be literal, the jabs and mockery would be barbed or even physical. They’d give him the cheapest beer they had or worse, push him around until he found himself standing in front of the MVP, big meaty hands clasping his arms. Those hands would be the only thing holding him up now. He’d thought this boy was a looker before, but the slightly angry, disapproving look on the star’s face would melt his insides like butter when Lee took him upstairs. Like the shy girl at the party, unsuspecting until the end, fixing his glasses and looking sidelong at this new flame, this crush.    
  
He’d back against the bed as Lee closed the door, locked it. His knees would give out when that gaze turned to him, heat and anger and … disapproval. “Can you make it down over the porch?” His eyes would rake over the rumpled sweater vest and khakis, sucking at his cheek, clucking in sympathy as his thumb brushed at a bruising cheek bone. 

(So the dream was unreasonably romantic. If a man can’t enjoy his own fantasies, what can he enjoy?)   
  


“N-No,” he’d gulp truthfully, staring up owlishly behind his glasses. 

A soft swear word would slip past Lee’s lips before he turned to the adjoining bathroom, then returned with a glass of water. “Drink. All of it,” he’d say sternly. 

Obedient, anything to avoid incurring the wrath of this sexy giant. The tight tshirt would be a little thin, slightly damp from his dancing at the party. “Thank you,” his whisper would barely fill the space between them. 

“They…” Lee’s glorious hands would run through his hair, nervous and upset. “They shouldn’t treat you like that. We can just chill here for a bit, you should lie down or something, I won’ touch yah, then I’ll getcha ho-mmmf!”    
  
In his dreams, Ford had more confidence. Far more than he’d ever had in his life. Maybe if Lee wasn’t his brother, he’d have had the gall to do this anyways but, here in this fantasy, to thank this boy for saving him, he’d … well, give him what everyone thought was being taken anyways. 

The first kiss would be forced, rushed, awful. Ford had never kissed anyone but family before, and he was sure he wouldn’t impress a player like Stanley, but hopefully he’d get the bigger boy’s attention at least. Brown eyes would blink open, shock in every line of his face before a slow grin would slide over Lee’s features. “Not bad,” a soft croon would grace his ears, caressing away his nerves as those hands, strong and sure, would pull him closer by the belt loops. “Again, but less teeth, kay?”    
  
Ford always blushes from eartips to elbows when he’s truly scandalized, and that would probably be how he spent the entire experience. Stan would tease him out of his pants, chuckling good naturedly about the nerdly clothes he had on. He’d smell like bar soap and musk after a rushed shower in the locker rooms. His brief hands on lesson in kissing wouldn’t be enough for the consummate student, but it wouldn’t be long before Ford was on his hands and knees, pants around his ankles, still wearing his Oxfords. His football star would be behind him as he panted, murmuring soothing promises and encouragement, pausing only to work his own spit into the virgin backside anxiously awaiting deflowerment. 

“Y’know this is gonna hurt, right?” Soft, soothing, that large hand on his back.    
  
“Y-ye-ah!!” That would be the only warning, not allowing him time to tighten or panic anymore before the blunt push of a thick head breached him. 

Here his fever dream faltered significantly, back in the real world. His eyes opened, tearful in reality as well; not for the pain he would endure but for the longing he had in his heart for this to be real. “S-Stanley…!” He shivered, pumping his freakish hand over his cock, nearly sobbing as his orgasm snaked like lightning through each and every nerve ending, from his glans down to his pipsqueak toe, as Stan had dubbed it, the 6th one. 

When the shivers wore down and he could finally uncurl his fingers, he sighed at the mess, Most of it was caught in his hand but a stray splatter had hit the mattress above his. Ugh. Gross. He would have to clean that up la-   
  
_ BAM. _ __  
__  
Ford nearly jumped out of his skin. Had a canon gone off? A gunshot? Fireworks perha-

_ BAM. _ “Stanford, open up!” The door handle rattled, stressing the old and painfully simple lock that was built in.    
  
His usually agile mind was stuck fast, chattering as he just stared at the cumstain on the underside of Stanley’s mattress. Holy Hubble, how was he going to get out of  _ this _ mess?!   
  
“Poindexter? Did you pass out readin’ again?” More banging. Sheesh, with all the working out his brother was doing, the stress test on those hinges might just be a failure!   
  
There, an excuse! He gingerly picked up the book, then dropped it noisily, allowing himself to half tumble to the ground, gratuitous ‘oof’ and ‘ugh’ noises, making sure to drag his feet, thunk his hand on stuff and ‘ow!’ like he’d stubbed his toe… he checked the mirror, noting with happy dismay that his hair was already in horrible disarray from his sinful actions, double checked that he’d tucked himself, back in, then with a grimace, wiped the palm of his hand on his bare hip before tugging his pjs back up. He purposefully fumbled the locked door as he did this, then finally opened the door, blinking slowly. “Mmnnwah? Stanley?” He leaned on the door, trying not to blush or stare.    
  
Stanley was almost exactly as he’d been fantasizing, thin t-shirt, letter jacket, tight jeans, hip cocked, hair slicked back just so. He looked… amused and a little annoyed. “Uh, y’gonna move and let me in, Ford? I gotta piss like a racehorse here.”    
  
“U-uh, s-sure…” Shit. Keep it together, just get back to bed ASAP.   
  
“Hey, you seem kinda tired still, maybe you should catch that nap again before it gets away. You look like you’re comin’ down with a fever or somethin’.”   
  
“Yeah. Nap. I’ll just… yeah.” It was like a damn had been breached. The fall semester was almost over; how would he survive Christmas break and winter being cooped up in the house with Lee?!

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note (no, not THE author, calm down) Sorry this took so long! Wasn’t sure i was gonna continue it, still not sure if i’m going to past this, ask me more good questions! I may just write more! I like this cute lil story.

After finals, Ford was much relieved to get some time away from the bullies. He still had to suppress a shiver of both arousal and fear whenever Stan mentioned the boys, whenever he was invited to come with Stan to a get-together, but Stan didn't press. That didn't mean he wasn't watching. 

 

It happened one night when Stan came home particularly drunk. He had a pattern. The weekdays were reserved for smoking and screwing around while the sun was up, but on the weekends, many parents went away to second homes or parties. The Pines parents were often away as well, drumming up more business. So the boys partied the weekend away.  It seemed to Ford that most stayed at their locations but Stan insisted on walking both ways and coming home. 

 

Somewhere inside his lonely heart, it almost seemed like a small sign that Stan wanted to come home to  _ him _ , to spend those nights with  _ him _ … 

 

And perhaps he wasn't too far off. 

 

Tonight seemed like it had been particularly eventful, with the amount of stumbling and swearing and struggling. Ford usually pretended to be asleep unless Stan was too drunk to get into bed. But tonight he seemed… not even all that drunk just …  _ on _ . It was like he had a current flowing through him, and the physical presence of his brother behind him made Ford's hairs stand on end as he heard his brother sway around the room, slowly stripping for no one…  _ or for him _ ? 

 

No. Preposterous. Stan didn't know.  _ Couldn't  _ know. But when one extra piece of clothing landed, not on the floor but on the bed… Ford turned just in time to see his brother's bare... groin. He tried not to gasp, feeling for the clothing he'd been tossed… Stan's boxers?! Wh-what?

  
Stan flopped onto the bunk as loudly as he always did but this time he was  _ naked  _ on purpose and he'd all but announced it to Ford. He wiggled to get comfy up there, the springs ominously noisy.    
  
Ford was struggling to hold his breath. Why was Stanley being so … strange?    
  
The question was quickly forgotten when he heard Stan’s breathing quicken, squirming. He peeked to the side, looking into the mirror on the dresser. He could almost make out the form of his brother, but couldn’t tell what was happening.    
  
“Stop … teasing me,” he heard, Lee’s voice escaping him in a breathless moan. “Please… I need you… I need more… F-fuck…” The squirming slowed a little and Ford could tell that Stan’s hands had converged on his groin. He must have quite the fantasy going. It was easier to ignore the ashes of dreams in his mouth when he could hear Stan moaning in time with his stroking hands and fingers. “God, r-right there… I wanna f-feel you touching me…”    
  
Before he knew it, Ford’s hands had snuck into his own pajama pants, biting his lip and rolling on his side to watch as best he could in the mirror. If he started breathing too hard he could turn his face into the pillow at least.    
  
It was such a tease listening to Stan moan, his ragged breathing as he stroked slow, twisting his hand up at the tip. With a little jolt, Ford realized that was how he stroked off too… twins indeed. “Yeah, slow like that, mmm just like… yeah… I would give anything for your big mouth…” Big? Seemed an odd thing to say to an imaginary lover.    
  
His own pace increased with his brother’s, listening with a now glowing blush to the slick sounds echoing around the room. He couldn’t work himself like Stanley was, he’d be just as loud, but the sexy mewling coming from the bigger male was certainly working him into a tizzy.    
  
“Fuck… S-... hnn…  _ Sixer… _ ”    
  
Ford froze in his place. At that moment, a light from a pair of headlights flashing on his glasses  through the window and he clapped a hand over his mouth when he saw Stanley looking straight at him in the mirror, his hips rolling under his hand.    
  
Stanley laughed softly, his eyes hooded and his smile open mouthed in the fleeting light. “Yeah, you. You’re always so quiet, you try so hard to hide from me… but… just once… just once Ford… I wanna feel your  _ hands _ on me… your smart mouth… f-fuck…” Their eye contact was lost as the car finally moved again, and Stan’s head turned away with a harsh moan.    
  
The rest of their moment was wordless. Stan thrashing a little on the bed, loud enough to make Ford worried about the neighbors, Ford’s panting barely audible over the thundering of his heart. Unable to look away from the sight of his brother as they apparently jerked off to one another.    
  
Ford came first, savagely biting his lip after a particularly filthy moan from his twin’s lips, the softest of sobs escaping him as he cupped his hand over the crown of his cock to catch the mess as it shot from the tip.    
  
“ _ Fuck _ , that’s filthy,” Stanley breathed. “Still in your ‘jams… you’re a proud man, Stanford… Someday I wanna… catch that… m-myselfffff,” he convulsed a little, curling up a little towards his core for a moment before arching, little grunts escaping him as he continued to stroke from just under the tip to the base.    
  
Ford’s panting mouth ran dry as he realized that Stanley must have just coated his own chest and belly. He laid there as Stanley’s chuckling and panting slowed a little, finally quieting down into even, deep breaths. His hand flopped over the side, a single drop of evidence hanging from his middle finger.    
  
There was nothing in that moment that could have caused the shy nerd to move from his spot on the bed. He cut his losses, wiping his hand on the inside of his leg and trying to be as still and quiet as possible as he flopped on his back, mind reeling, hoping desperately that Stan remembered none of this in the morning. 


End file.
